


Shards of a Prism: a short stories collection

by corbeaudelys



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood and Gore, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corbeaudelys/pseuds/corbeaudelys
Summary: A collection of short stories based around my GW2 characters!
Relationships: Trahearne/Player Character (Guild Wars)
Kudos: 4





	1. when given a chance at salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agrona is offered to join the Pact as an apprentice to demolitionist Tonn. Written for the Tyria's Library Prompt: desperation / hope.

“You want me to do what?” 

The asura grins smugly as he crosses his arms. “I want you to join the Pact.”

They’re sitting across from each other at a table in The Dead End. Besides a couple of too-drunk-to-function regulars and the bartender, the place is quiet and empty. A perfect place for a short meeting. Candlelight flickers over the human’s face as she looks him up and down, calculating just how sincere he is. When she realizes he is being completely serious, she snorts in both shock and denial. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“On the contrary, Miss Vass.” Demolitionist Tonn says, “I do believe you are a perfect candidate for my apprentice.” 

She leans back in her chair and props her feet up on the wooden table. “And what makes you say that?” 

“To be completely honest, I find the other Pact members to be… lacking with the explosive spark needed for this line of work. I could find some College of Dynamics student to work for me but well… you know how those upstart college students are. It’d be too much of a hassle. Then I read about your little stunt in the Krytan newspaper.” He pulls said newspaper out of his pack and unfolds it with a flourish. Reading aloud, “ _’Ex-bandit turned vigilante kills famed Two-Blade Pete in massive explosion.’_ Now that’s why I call firepower.” 

Agrona chuckles. “Poor bastard didn’t see it coming. The Shining Blade has some really good explosives, but a little tinkering makes them all the more potent.”

“And that’s exactly why I want you.” His eyes are practically sparkling with admiration and wonder. “You go beyond what has already been made, and make it better. With our combined efforts, we can make bombs that can kill a dragon. The Pact has already gotten closer than anyone else to defeating Zhaitan. The Marshal and Commander already took down one of his strongest champions. You could seriously make a difference if you helped us.” 

The woman bites her lip and looks away. Can she really make that much of a difference? She’s just a street rat with a few flimsy gadgets; she’s no soldier. No technician. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone else you can get? No charr or-” 

“Miss Vass,” Tonn interrupts. “You are a rare prodigy when it comes to demolition. With little education on how to build explosives, you managed to completely destroy the hiding place of one of the most wanted bandit leaders in Kryta. Taking out a good number of his followers too. That talent should not go to waste mulling around the streets of such a backwater city.” 

Agrona clicks her tongue but doesn’t answer. 

Tonn waits a patient moment before sighing and getting up from his seat. “If it’s the fear of breaking your parole that’s stopping you, I can arrange for it to be taken away. You’re a hero, Agrona. That snake of a countess shouldn’t be keeping you on a leash because you did one bad thing in the name of good.” 

As he leaves, he slides a letter in front of her. “Just in case you change your mind.” 

Her nails dig into her arms as the doors shut behind him.

—

She can taste ash on her tongue and smoke in her lungs. She coughs to expel the dust from her throat and forces herself to get up. Get up, dammit, the battle’s not over yet. 

A still burning pillar collapses near her and it shakes the ground. Once a secure base hidden in the caves near Divinity’s Reach, now rubble and flames after the explosion. Despite being prone on the ground, Agrona smirks at her victory. 

The victory is short-lived when a familiar figure pushes a broken crate off of himself. Two-Blade Pete stumbles to his feet, his bloodshot eyes immediately latching onto Agrona. His expression curls into one of rage.

“You little brat,” he spits. Agrona spurs into action, pushing herself up with her hands only to find she can’t move her foot. A quick look behind her shows her legs are trapped under fallen rocks. Her eyes dart back to Pete when she hears the click of the safety on his pistol. He was smirking now that his prey couldn’t escape. “I made a mistake letting you go so easily. I thought you were weak, a nuisance on the rest of the gang. I was relieved to see you go. Now I see I’ve underestimated you, Vass.” 

“You tried to kill him,” she growls back, “You tried to kill Quinn, you son of a bitch! Just for questioning your authority. You needed to be put down, and the Seraph didn’t have the guts.” 

Pete cackles, sauntering his way to her. “So you thought you’d do it for them? What a good little girl you are, such a patriotic citizen of Kryta. Did you forget why you hated them in the first place?” 

She shifts on the ground and feels something metal jab at her abdomen. Her eyes widen, immediately recognizing the feel of a gun at her hip. Careful not to draw his attention, she slowly inches her arm down while keeping her eyes on him. 

“When your parents died, they did nothing to help you. Cast you out onto the streets with little regard to your well-being. That’s why you joined us, Nona.”

“You don’t get to call me that, anymore.” She hisses as her fingers close around the weapon. 

“You’ve forgotten who you are. You’re one of them now.” Pete shakes his head and points the pistol directly between her eyes. “Say hello to your mother and father for me.” 

She whips out the pistol and fires. His body arches, head snapping back as the bullet enters his skull and dislodges through the back. Pete crumbles to the ground in a heap of twisted limbs and his eyes stare emptily up at the ceiling of the cave. Agrona wheezes, the realization of what she had done hitting her like centaur. She drops the pistol and collapses on her stomach again, trying to block out the ringing in her ears.

It takes only moments for the Seraph to arrive. The soldiers gawk at the scene, stunned into silence by the destruction of the area. One of the strongest bandit leaders is on the ground with blood pooling around his head and an ash-covered, messy-haired girl breathes heavily with her foot still caught under the rubble. 

Captain Thackeray pushes past the others and almost trips over himself in his effort to halt. He mutters a curse under his breath. His eyes dart between Agrona and Pete’s body before he rushes to get her out of there. A few soldiers join him and together they push the rocks off her legs. 

“What in Lyssa’s name did you do?” Logan asks frantically as he helps her up. 

“I did what you lot couldn’t.” Agrona murmurs, her vision beginning to swirl. Her knees buckle but Logan’s there to catch her. She feels herself beginning to pass out as he hoists her onto his back and orders the Seraph to search the wreckage. 

— 

“You seriously want to just… let her go?!” 

“She’s a hero, Anise. She just took out one of the strongest bandits-” 

“And stole supplies from the Shining Blade to do it! This is a top secret organization; there’s no way she should’ve been able to–” 

“What difference does a few missing bombs make?!” 

“This is a matter of security! If some little street rat can get in, who’s to say someone even more dangerous can’t too?!” 

“You say that, but I think this is more about your bruised ego than “security.””

“Don’t you start with me, Logan Thackeray! I want her under watch, a week at minimum. I’ll send my own Blades to do it.” 

“Now you’re just exercising your control over her. I’ve had enough of this.” 

“We aren’t done here, Logan!” 

Logan pushes aside the curtain to Agrona’s room and closes it just as quickly. He waits until he can hear the clack of her heels fade away down the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he turns and smiles at the patient in the cot, whose face can only be described as… deadpan. 

It’s a sunny day outside and the light shines through the window and onto the captain as he takes a seat next to her bed. There are flowers and a few thank-you cards from the people of Divinity’s Reach for her on the nightstand. A newspaper clipping of her story too. Someone had drawn the scene of the wreckage, along with a small portrait of Agrona and Two-Blade Pete on the side. Her expression there mirrored the one on her face now. 

“Sounds like a marvelous conversation you had out there, Captain.” she says sarcastically. 

Logan chuckles. “Yeah, Countess Anise is very happy with your decision to steal their explosives.” 

Agrona shrugs. “They were kinda collecting dust down there. Plus I felt like they needed a few… upgrades.” 

“You know you could put those skills to better use as part of the Seraph.” Even though she presses her lips together and looks away from him, he continues, “We need people like you, strong individuals who do what needs to be done in order to protect Kryta.” 

“I didn’t do it for Kryta,” she hisses. “I did it for Quinn.” 

Logan’s expression doesn’t change and she hates it. Still ever so hopeful. He pats her on the shoulder as he stands up again. “Think about it, okay? I’ll see what I can do about Anise in the meantime.”

He walks out of the room and closes the curtain behind him. Agrona stares out the window as the thoughts begin to churn in her head. 

— 

She’s been staring at the letter for ten minutes but still can’t bring herself to open it. The Pact’s seal is almost taunting her, begging her to rip it open and look inside. 

“What the fuck am I doing…?” She grumbles. Does she deserve this? This chance at a better life, away from Divinity’s Reach with its corrupt ministers and haughty nobles? To a place where she’ll be warm in her own bed with food in her stomach? This place is all she’s ever known; can she abandon it just like that? 

_Does she allow herself that hope?_

Agrona grits her teeth and picks up the letter. Once it’s in her hands, a sense of relief washes over her.

**Absolutely.**


	2. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Indumathia and Libitira met, written for the Tyria's Library Event!

Frost nipped at Indumathia’s nose, the wind so cold it seemed like it was freezing the sap in her veins. The snow was knee-deep and well-packed, forcing her to lift her leg high just to be able to take another step forward. She’d only spent a day in the Grove, but she was already adapted to that humid, hot climate. Not this stupid cold and the dumb snowflakes that got caught in her eyelashes.

‘Curse me and my stupid fashion choices,’ she thought as she held her bare arms close to her chest. ‘Oh sure, Indu, you’ll only be there for a little while. Just go in this cute skirt and crop top combo, it’ll be fine! Well, obviously not!!’ 

The sapling yelped as another gust of wind nearly blew her over, but she continued trudging up the snowy hill. Blue Ice Shining was supposed to be just another mile away, and when she finally reached the top she saw it. The sight of the large sails, the fires burning brightly against the snowstorm, filled her with hope and relief. Finally, someplace _warm_.

She was about to slide down the hill when the whistle of an arrow sounded from behind her.

The arrow flew right past her face as she dove out of the way. Her eyes went slit with fear and darted across the frozen wasteland, looking for her assailant. Another arrow streaked between the pines to her right and she rolled again. She took out the sword she’d stolen from one of the Wardens and held it in front of her awkwardly. It’s too small in her hands; she needed something bigger–

This time the arrow nicked her in her thigh and she chirped in pain. Dark, iridescent blood trickled down the bare bark and she stared at it in horror. Wasn’t her blood meant to be golden?

She didn’t have time to ponder it any longer when the attacker finally emerged from the woods. It was a norn, a hulking mass of a man despite his seemingly young age. He looked like he was just starting to grow a beard. His bow was drawn again, and that’s when she noticed the corrupted ice jutting from his gauntlets. The blueish veins creeping up his arms and around his eyes.

What did Cygnus call those guys again? Those men that were stupid enough to worship an Elder Dragon?

Ah right, the Sons of Svanir.

“Hello, little flower,” The Svanir cooed, moving closer as she stumbled back, “The Claws call for your death. Your head will be a great trophy to present to Dragon when he awakens.”

“Just try and take it, you frozen meatsack,” she threatened with a shaky voice, but he only laughed in response. 

“You sylvari are so weak, so soft-” His words were cut off with a gargle as his body seized up. Indumathia watched in horror as his eyes rolled back into his head and foam frothed in his mouth. The bluish veins turned green with poison and he collapsed forward, revealing a cloaked figure behind.

Her outstretched hand fell to her side once she was sure the Svanir was dead. The woman was dressed head to toe in black, and carried a magnificent, ominous staff that glowed blue in the faint light. Like a reaper of souls, her face was covered with a hood so that Indu could only see her lower jaw. And the scars that cut through her lip and cheek.

Indumathia’s heavy breathing stuttered as the woman walked closer to her. “I– I, uh, thank… Thank you, stranger, for saving my life. I’m sorry if I- Oh brambles, i’m sorry if I’m trespassing, I swear I’ll be out of your way, shortly-”

Her rambling ceased when the stranger knelt in front of her. She trembled with both cold and fear as the woman paused for a moment. Indu couldn’t see her eyes but she felt them on her. Blue light enveloped the stranger’s gloved hand and she brought it close to Indumathia’s wound. The light was warm, and she could feel the flesh knit back together under the heat. When she was done, all that was left was the frozen blood that streaked down her leg. She pressed down on it gently. Huh, not even a bruise.

“This is no place for a sapling.” The lilting voice jarred Indumathia out of her awe at the magic.

“H-How do you know I’m a sapling?” Indumathia replied, but she immediately regretted it when the woman stood back to her full height.

“There is a newness about you I’ve seen in many before. Go back to the Grove, little one. These lands are dangerous.”

The stranger began to walk away. Indumathia fought with herself for a moment, because sure this woman healed her but she also did just poison a man in front of her and she looked to be very dangerous and scary and-

“I’m looking for someone!”

She blurted out the words before she could stop herself. The woman paused but did not look back.

“I’m looking for someone from my Dream. I saw her here… in this area.”

Still no reaction from the stranger. Just silence and the wind whipping at their clothes.

“… Her name is Libitira? Have you-”

The stranger’s hand was gripping her jaw before she even saw her move. Indumathia clawed at the arm that held her in place, but for someone so willowy she was strong. Sharp teeth gritted together, the woman growled, “You should not know that name, little one.”

An idea struck Indumathia and her hand shot out. The woman didn’t have enough time to jump away before she pulled the hood off her head.

Silver eyes met white as the woman stumbled back, hands partially hiding her face. What were long black locks in Indumathia’s Dream were now cut short and cropped to frame her hallowed face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and her cheekbones jutted out from a lack of nutrition. The woman before her was a skeleton compared to the strong, elegantly beautiful one she saw in her Dream.

But without a doubt… this was Commander Libitira.

—

“For the last time, no.”

“But PLEASEEEEE?? I have nowhere else to go!!” 

For the past thirty minutes, Indumathia had been trailing Commander Libitira back to wherever her house was. The norn moved way faster in the snow than the young sylvari could, so she had taken to teleporting every few feet while walking behind her instead. 

“You should be heading back to the Grove. Not chasing after someone who can’t help you.” Libitira hissed. 

“But you’re not supposed to help-” She teleported behind Libi again. “- me! I think I’m supposed to help you!”

The woman scoffed. “Don’t bother. I don’t need help.”

“The state of you says otherwise!” Indu shot back.

Libitira halted so suddenly that when Indu teleported next, she slammed into her back and fell over into the snow. She whipped around to face her, silver eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“If the Dream actually told you to help me, then it’s a joke just like I always thought it was. It almost got my love killed the first time he complete his Wyld Hunt and has killed countless others sending them on wild goose chases in the name of glory or whatever bullshit it comes up with next. Cut yourself off from it. It serves no purpose other than to get you hurt.”

She resumed marching, but Indumathia stayed where she was. 

“I don’t think… I’m even connected to the Dream anymore.”

Libitira sighed and looked back to see if she was lying or not. The oddly fearful expression on the sapling’s face proved she was telling the truth, and her annoyance melted away the more distressed Indumathia’s expression became.

“Endymion said that all sylvari are connected to each other, and they are attuned to each other’s thoughts. But I… didn’t feel anything while I was in the Grove, the place where the most sylvari gather. He said something strange happened to me before I came out of my pod, but didn’t specify what. I think it-” She hesitated, chewing on her claws. 

“I think it severed my connection.”

Libitira exhaled through her nose, brows drawing together and lips pressing into a thin line. This child was probably a day or two old at most and she’d already been ostracized from her kind. She could see it in her face and voice; she felt like she didn’t belong in the Grove. It wasn’t her home.

She walked back to the sapling and knelt in front of her. Her expression was one of sympathy as she put her hand on her shoulder, saying softly, “All the more reason for you to leave it behind. You may remember your Dream but it has no hold over you like it does others. Go out and explore the world. You are so young. You should be able to cherish your youth, instead of wasting it here with me because some ancient realm of arcana told you to.”

“But I don’t mind being here with you! Sure it’s cold but I’m sure wherever you’re staying is much nicer and warmer.” Indumathia shrugged and gave Libi a half-grin. “Plus you can’t be all grouchy and brooding if you saved me.”

Libi’s face dropped into a deadpan and she continued walking without a word. Indu giggled and teleported to catch up, skipping cheerfully now that the snow was less dense and tall. 

The more they walked, the more the trees gave way until they were standing in a small clearing where a cabin like the ones she saw in the Foothills was built in the center. It had its own garden out front, where young sprouts were just beginning to pop out of the ground for the spring. A few ravens were perched on the roof, and they greeted the pair with a few loud caws before taking off into the sky.

“This is yours?” Indumathia gasped.

“No, actually.” Libi held out her arm for one of the ravens to perch on and scratched his fuzzy head. “A kind-hearted soul found me in the snow when I… escaped Maguuma… and he brought me here to rest. He spends his springs and summers visiting relatives in Blue Ice Shining, so he gave me this cabin to stay in.”

“It’s beautiful…” Indumathia crouched next to the garden, poking the sprouts. “And he takes such good care of his plants!”

The commander crossed her arms as she watched her fiddle with the plants and explore the area. So young, so innocent. And still she wanted to stay here. If she truly felt like an outsider among the sylvari, perhaps… this place would do as her home for now.

“You can stay here until the summer,” Libitira sighed. Indu’s ears perked up and her eyes dilated in excitement. “But only until summer. Then you should go explore and leave me here in peace.”

Indumathia shrieked with joy and leapt at the taller norn. The strength of her tackle was enough to knock her over with a yelp, and she squeezed Libi so hard she could barely breathe.

“Thank you, thank you, _thank you!!!_ I promise you won’t regret it, Libi!” Her eyes were sparkling with optimism and for some reason… it felt oddly familiar to Libitira. Indumathia seemed to realize what she was doing and jumped back with her fingers against her lips. “Oops, sorry- _Commander Libitira_ , I mean.”

“I’m so going to regret this…”


	3. a huntress' lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crescentia is close to completing her hunt and finding the white stag, but someone gets in the way.

“Hey, Endymion?” **  
**

“Hmph?”

“What was it like when you completed your Hunt?”

“Fantastic. Like a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders. Now I don’t have to worry about anything ever again. Why? You getting close to completing yours?”

“Caithe told me about a stag that has been seen close by recently… She thinks it’s the same one from my Dream.”

“That’s perfect. We’ll be known as the fastest podtwins to complete their Wyld Hunts!”

“Yeah but… what do I do once it’s complete? Where do I go from there?”

“Who knows. But I don’t think it’s as scary as others make it out to be. Relax, we’ll be fine as long as we’re together.”

—

Her feet barely make a sound against the soft earth as she runs. She moves like a gazelle, weaving through the underbrush like she has known these trails all her life. She is only a week old, but she is already one of the best hunters in the Grove. She leaves no tracks, runs so fast one can blink and miss her. During the night when she is most alive, she appears more as a mint-colored mist than a sylvari. 

Her prey is here; she knows it. The stag’s footprints stand out against the rich mud. Into the cave. That’s where he went.

She tracks it swiftly, stopping every so often to check for hoof prints or signs of the stag again. Born only a week ago and she is already this close to completing her Wyld Hunt. _Find the white stag_ , the Dream had whispered to her, _protect it. It is in danger._ She knows this animal is something magical, something connected to the Dream. For it to fall in the wrong hands would mean disaster.

Risen block her path; she slips by them with ease. No undead can catch up to her speed. They are minor, insignificant obstacles on her hunt. The air hums with magic. the stag must be close-

“Is someone there? Please help me!”

Her ears flick as the voice interrupts her concentration. It sounded to the left. Another sylvari, in pain. The stag can wait a little longer.

The Risen that also heard the cry for help trudge toward the sound, ready to silence whatever is still living. The huntress spurs into action. She readies her shot with her bow, one eye closed and arrow right up against her cheek. She lets it fly, and the explosive fire reduces all the Risen to ash. The wounded sylvari stares in shock at the damage done by a single arrow, and then looks up as she hurries to him.

“Well done, sapling!” He exclaims in awe. “Well done, indeed!”

“Be at ease,” she reassures as she kneels next to him, “You’re safe now. Are you wounded?”

It’s then she notices him clutching his side, which oozes bright golden sap between his fingers. She tuts and asks him to move his hands. Placing her own over the wound, she closes her eyes and meditates. Soft light begins to glow, and then a flash. The wound is sealed and healthy again. 

“Thank you, sapling. I’ve never seen someone so skilled in battle and healing at such a young age.” He takes her hand when she offers to help him up. “But I must hurry. There is a white stag I am pursuing and if I let it escape, the consequences will be…dire.”

Her head tilts to the side. “Curious, I too am pursuing the white stag I saw in my Dream.” 

“Then we should hunt it together. It may mean more luck. I am Gavin, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bows to her, tilting his head up to give her a charming, charismatic smile.

Her cheeks burn with bashfulness, glow flaring for just a moment. She dips into a curtsy. “I am Crescentia. The pleasure is all mine.”

—

“You found it already?”

“Yes, and a kind friend is going to help me because he wants the stag too!”

“That… Gavin fellow?”

“Yes, that’s him. He’s very nice, and he really admires my skill as a guardian. He thinks I could be a magnificent Warden if I train with him after-”

“Cress, I don’t really trust that guy…”

“Wh… What do you mean?”

“Yeah, he’s sweet and all, but he also seems really… shady. Giving you all those compliments and advice, it feels weird…”

“You don’t know him as well as I do, though. He isn’t-”

“I’m just saying be careful around him, alright? I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I think I can decide who I like and hang out with for myself, thank you.”

“Oh c’mon, Cress- Cress? Crescentia!!”

—

A quick look at the top of the watchtower points them in the direction of the white stag. It feels good to finally have someone who matches her pace, who moves just as swiftly through the vines and brambles. Panther and jaguar they are, chasing down their prey as it races along ahead of them. They just need to tire it out; once it’s too weak to run any longer, they can bring it back to the Grove and its power will help strengthen the Dream.

Their breathing is synced as they cut down Risen that dare try to challenge them. A perfect pair, able to communicate without words, the strongest of equals. Together, they’re unstoppable in their quest.

Crescentia thinks about how well Gavin mirrors her compared to Endymion. Almost like he was her podtwin instead of that lazy fern back in the Grove.

The stag is cornered, too weary to continue on. Gavin marches up to it proudly. It rears back away from his hand, and looks to Crescentia as if pleading to keep him away from it. 

“Excellent work, Valiant,” Gavin praises, stroking its neck even as it shudders, “But now I must leave. And I will be taking the white stag with me.” There’s a new look in his eyes that causes Crescentia to back up a few feet. A new… evil. “You’re welcome to come, of course. Your skills as a hunter would be an asset to the court.”

“The court?” Crescentia gasps. “All this time… you’ve been working with them They almost killed my brother! I could never-”

He moves toward her and she moves back. There’s a brief flash of pain across his features but he smothers it under hope. A flash of movement and suddenly he’s holding both her hands in his own. “Your skills are wasted following Ventari’s Tablet. Come with me, Crescentia, and you can realize your full potential! You said it yourself earlier. Your brother only holds you back, just like the teachings of an old dead centaur and a human.”

“No, Gavin, I will not go with you!” She shouts and yanks her hands out of his grip. “The Nightmare Court is evil and I will not join it!”

It takes a moment for her words to register. His eyes flicker down, the smile slowly dying on his face to be replace with a frown. He looks like he wants to reach for her again, hand clenching and unclenching before he forces it to his side. His brows draw together and he turns his back to her, shoulders hunched. “Ah, that’s a pity. A loyal friend, and now a debased death… It grieves me greatly to turn predatory into prey, Valiant, but I cannot have you interfere.”

She feels the sting before she even registers what’s going on. The nightmare hound’s claws cleave right through the armor she wears and rake bright gold gashes into her back. She screams and falls forward, face first into shallow waters. Her vision blurs but she can still make out Gavin’s boots slowly approaching her. Kneeling down, he takes her chin in between his fingers and forces her to look up at him. She wants to spit in his face but her head keeps spinning like a top. 

“Such a waste of talent… Farewell, dear Crescentia.”

Her eyes flutter closed as he and his nightmare hounds lead the stag away.

—

“I’m gonna rip that stupid excuse of a beard off his stupid face!!”

“Endymion- Valiant Endymion, stop right now!”

“No, Firstborn, that crusty bastard tried to kill my sister! I should’ve taken him out when I had the chance-”

“You can’t just barge into a Nightmare Court camp all by yourself. You know this!”

“Watch me!”

“Endymion, please, we need to go about this carefully. I know a place where we can get disguises, find out the location of Crescentia’s stag. Then we can bring it back and she will complete her Wyld Hunt.”

“Ughhhhhh, fine! But I get to rub it in Gavin’s face when we do.”

—

She awakens to the sounds of a fight in the Grove. The Grove. That shouldn’t be possible, courtiers could never-

Pulling the sheet off her torso, she sits up and swings her legs over the side. Her back stings but she ignores the pain as she sneaks closer to the entrance. 

Sure enough, courtiers battle against the wardens as the citizens run screaming. Caithe stands in front of the stag protectively as it bleats and jumps back on its hind legs. Endymion charges at the sylvari that looks to be the leader. A pale blue woman who fights viciously, using every dirty trick in the book to win. Luckily, Endymion has had his fair share of cheating courtiers.

“So nice to see you again, Sariel! Love the hair, by the way- I think the asymmetry of the pine cone scales really compliments your ghastliness. I really did a good job on that!” He taunts as their blades interlock. “Terribly sorry about stealing back the stag but you know, my sister saw it first. And finders keepers as the humans say!”

“Without that disguise, you look very familiar…” Sariel growls. “You’re that obnoxious sapling that took out Bercilak, aren’t you?”

“Wow! I’m that famous in the Court already! Do you have a bounty on my head? How does my headshot look on the wanted poster? I really hope you didn’t mess up my hair!” He shoves against her blade with the last word, causing her to stumble back.

“After all, it’s so much better than yours.” He adds with a wink that causes her to shriek with rage. 

Crescentia has to get out there and fight; she can’t just stand by and watch. Her eyes dart around the courtyard until she spies a scepter scepter and focus on top of a mushroom table. Weaving through enemy and ally alike, she grasps the scepter in one hand and the focus in the other. It’s not a bow, but she did practice with these the first week she was born.

Just as she turns to join the fight, there’s a shrill shriek she’d recognize anywhere behind her.

Endymion is on his back. Sariel must have pulled some dirty trick because there’s no way he’d end up on the ground that fast. He looks dazed, holding his head in his hand before looking up at the figure that shadows him. Crescentia shouts her brother’s name and rushes to intervene, but another voice booms over the fight.

“Sariel, enough!”

The courtier freezes just before she brings her sword down on the fallen Endymion. It hangs suspended in the air, like she’s still debating on whether or not to defy the higher-up’s orders and just do away with the nuisance. Eventually she sighs, letting the sword drop and all but dragging herself back to where the one who shouted is.

Gavin looks furious as Sariel strides up to him. “Where’s your honor? We aren’t cutthroats or animals. We kill when needed, when we can use that bloodshed to grow a garden.”

Sariel locks her fingers behind her head and snorts. His glow flares indignantly.

“Leave, now. Meditate on this, and should you fail to learn, I’ll kill you myself!”

The younger courtier rolls her eyes, sauntering her way out of the courtyard with her lackeys following closely behind. Before she fully leaves, she tosses one last hateful glance at Caithe and yells, “This isn’t over, Caithe! One day I’ll kill you, no matter what the Grand Duchess says!”

Caithe does not respond. Once she is a safe distance away, Gavin walks forward. He’s wearing new armor, plant-based like Crescentia’s own instead of the plain chain-mail from before. Cress hates how sincerely apologetic he looks. “I’m so glad you’re safe, my friend. I apologize for Sariel’s behavior. She’s young. She hasn’t learned to temper power with wisdom.”

“Obviously,” Cress mutters as Endymion moves protectively to her side. “But what does it matter? The Nightmare Court is evil regardless of power or wisdom. You two are the same.”

He looks genuinely hurt at her statement. “You wound me, Crescentia. I am nothing like Sariel. She is an honorless craven, ready to strike down your brother without remorse, and I have been your friend. We were a perfect pair when we hunted the stag. An unstoppable force when working together.

“The court doesn’t seek to destroy either the sylvari or the Pale Tree. We’re trying to free you from the influence of Ventari’s Tablet. Think of how much more you could do-”

“That’s enough, Gavin,” Caithe says. “You’ll get nowhere spouting your propaganda in the center of the Grove.”

His jaw clenches but he says no more. The air is tense around the four individuals. Crescentia glares hotly at Gavin, knuckles white gripping the scepter. Endymion stands protectively in front of her, waiting for Gavin to try something. Caithe holds the anxious stag back, one knife drawn. And Gavin glances between each of them, assessing the best course of action.

“Let me prove it to you.” He says. “Duel me, sapling. I’ll show you that what the Nightmare Court is trying to do is for the greater good.”

“Good? Good?” Endymion cackles as he crosses his arms. “You’re called the _Nightmare Court_ , for Ventari’s sake, not the Sunshine and Rainbows Court! Nothing you lot do will ever be GOOD.”

“What are the terms?” Cress asks, and her brother looks back at her in shock.

Gavin grins. “If you win, I will accept whatever punishment you choose. But if I win, I’ll take both the stag and you back to the Court.”

“Deal.”

“Cress, are you insane?!” Endymion shrieks, “You’re still injured. He’s gonna mop the floor with you!”

“For once, I agree with your brother.” Caithe says. “This won’t end in your favor, Valiant.”

Crescentia does not reply as she walks forward. The group of onlookers that had gathered form a line as their barriers, and whispers fly in the air. There’s a sudden hush as both duelists ready their weapons. A scuff of the foot, a roll of the shoulders. Confidence radiates off of Gavin. Crescentia just grits her teeth and holds the scepter tighter.

He rushes at her with surprising speed. Cress throws her hands up and summons a shield that his mace clatters uselessly against. In a blur of movement, she lobs a glowing orb at his chest as he stumbles back. He deflects it with his shield and presses the attack again.

“Excellent, Crescentia – but I am not yet overthrown.” He grunts when he swipes at her again. 

She backs up onto the spiral walkway, taunting him to follow her. The two sylvari are locked into a dangerous dance, equally matched on the battlefield like they are on the hunt. Dodging and weaving through attacks, it seems like neither can hit the other. Bystanders watch with baited breath as they climb further and further up the spiral.

“Your skills are as keen as your honor, Valiant.” he compliments. Cress ignores it and throws an orb at him again. Her wounds scream in protest as she ducks away from his mace, and he notices the flicker of pain in her eyes. His shield slams into her chest and it knocks the wind out of her. Gasping for breath, she messily draws a symbol on the ground that summons misty strikes from above. Gavin raises the shield above his head but the attacks still bring him to his kneels. Once she regains her breath, she attacks again. Yet she’s starting to wear down, and that little bit of information doesn’t escape Gavin’s notice.

He attacks with renewed vigor, leaving no room for Crescentia to block. A scrape on her arm, a knee into her stomach. She’s barely holding up by the time they reach the top of the spiral. Gavin manages to kick her legs out from her after a quick shield bash. She lands on her back hard, a wheeze of pain escaping her lips. Pain, so much pain throbs down her spine. She can’t get up.

Gavin stands over her, victorious. He sheathes his mace and reaches out to grab Crescentia’s wrist. “Now I can finally show you the true nature of the court. Don’t worry. I think you’ll like-”

A figure leaps in front of Crescentia and slices through Gavin’s outstretched hand. Through blackened vision, Crescentia recognizes the unmistakable green of her brother’s armor. 

“You’re cheating!” Gavin shouts in anger, clutching the hand that now bleeds golden sap.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you saying “Duel me, _sapling_.” And Crescentia isn’t the only sapling here at the moment.” Endymion shifts in his stance. “So put up your weapon and fight ME.”

Gavin lets out a battle cry and rams into him with his shield. He tanks the hit and retaliates with a flurry of swipes. The courtier has no time to react before he slams the greatsword down on his shield, shattering it in two. He dodges around him as he fumbles for the mace he had sheathed, and Endymion takes his time walking to him.

The Valiant laughs watching him stumble and panic. But the sound ignites a deep anger in Gavin’s chest. _One symbol will cripple that Valiant for good. One symbol, just draw it then I can take Crescentia and the stag back, just DRAW-_

White hot pain bursts along his spine and he screams. Endymion’s eyes widen as he falls forward, the armor on his back charred and smoking. Behind him, Crescentia still holds the scepter up. Her petals are askew and she’s breathing heavily, but the fear on her face turns to relief as she lowers her weapon again.

Gavin coughs, the wound far too deep to be repairable. Sap bubbles from the places where the armor has been burned down to the skin. He manages to look back at Crescentia, and although she expects hatred, there is only pride in his eyes. “Well done, valiant Crescentia.” A wheeze. “I am beaten. I will be remembered…in the Dream.”

With one last exhale, the life leaves Gavin.

Tears begin to form in Crescentia’s eyes, and she covers her mouth to stifle the sobs. Endymion is immediately by her side, pulling her to him so that she can cry on his shoulder. Why? Why is she crying for a man who tried to turn a beautiful creature of hope into one of despair? Who tried to drag her down with him?

“I’m sorry…” She blubbers. “I’m so sorry, Endy, I should’ve listen-”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he hushes. “I was making assumptions and you had every right to be mad at me. It’s not your fault he actually turned out to be a dick.”

She just continues to sob, clinging to her podtwin. Wardens begin putting the body on a stretcher, to be buried beneath the Pale Tree’s boughs. She watches them take him away through one eye, but something brushing against her hair draws her attention away.

The stag gently nuzzles the side of her head, and she laughs softly. Pulling away from Endymion, she holds the stag’s muzzle in her hands and scratches under his chin. His deep brown eyes glimmer with gratitude, and he sniffs around her face. Something brushes against her mind, a quiet whisper entering her thoughts.

_“Thank you.”_

She looks up at the stag in shock, and she can see in his eyes that it was him. He bows his head deeply, nose almost touching the ground. Joy warming her chest, she stands up and curtsies back to him. The stag trots away without another word, no doubt heading to the the Omphalos Chamber.

Crescentia turns back to Endymion. But it isn’t just Endymion behind her. Caithe stands a little behind him, arms crossed but Cress swears that is a genuine smile on her face. The onlookers from before are clamoring to thank her, dozens of voices cheering her name. Every face is alight with joy, and it’s almost enough to bring her to tears again.

Even though she had to sacrifice a dear friend, she still has this. A growing community of Valiants and Wardens, just waiting to get to know the White Stag’s hero. A quiet but admirable mentor, who now has aided both twins in their time of need. And a brother who loved her, who threw himself in harm’s way to help her the first moment she looked like she was losing.

There is no fear of the unknown, terror of the future ahead now that she has completed her Wyld Hunt. Just the happiness and warmth of this moment, of the sight of her growing family.


	4. persona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaheer feels pressured to be someone he is not.

He’s such a small thing when he’s born. Massive ears and a tiny, tiny body. His parents worry that he’s going to trip over those ears until he grows into them, but somehow he manages to stumble about before his eyes even open all the way. 

It takes his parents a few days before they finally decide on a name for him. By that time, his eyes are shining amber as they gaze at their green surroundings. He follows twittering birds and swift butterflies wherever they go, so much so his mother has to put him in a pen to keep him from wandering off.

“What do we name him?” His mother asks.

“Zaheer.” His father responds.

—

The first thing they notice that is wrong about him is his absolute refusal to read. All other progenies are already well-versed in grammar but he won’t pick up even a human’s children’s book. He doesn’t write down his notes in class, nor do the readings at home. Most nights, his mother is forced to read the books for him until she eventually creates a golem to do it for her.

But what is strange is that he is at the top of his class despite never touching a book. 

They decide to take him to a doctor. A few tests later, and they get their results.

“Well, it seems like your son Zaheer has a very rare ability,” the doctor says. He takes one of Zaheer’s still oversized ears and holds it up. “He can remember everything he hears. No matter how long ago it was. I asked him to recite last year’s lessons and he did it perfectly. He refuses to read because even at this age, he knows there’s no use for it.”

His mother gasps while his father looks at him with wonder in his eyes. “The perfect auditory learner…” 

Zaheer just blinks up at them and smiles.

—

He becomes famous among the other progenies after his diagnosis goes public. What college professor wouldn’t want to show off their son’s incredible talent? Zaheer doesn’t mind all the attention, but he wishes he had more time alone to himself. Hearing so many voices all day is exhausting.

He looks to other popular progenies to see how to act. Jaxx is aloof, seeing himself as above the flock of lower IQ progenies that follow him like sheep. Iilya full on bullies everyone around her that doesn’t meet her expectations. Zivv acts as if no one else exists. So Zaheer takes on a persona too: a cocky know-it-all that drives any foreign visitors crazy when they try talking to him. 

He’s exhausted by the end of each day keeping that persona going, but he wants his reputation to stay strong. All well-known asura take pride in their abilities, even if it means walking the thin line between that and arrogance. But let’s be honest, it’s mostly arrogance. So he sticks to that persona and thrives in the community. Even the great Zojja notices his work, and he breezes through classes like they’re basic level courses. 

—

The Durmand Priory practically begs for Zaheer to join their ranks right when he finishes his studies. He accepts, of course. They need a walking index if they want all their knowledge to be completely secure. Scholars come to him when they need to remember certain texts or artifacts. He spends hours listening to Gixx document everything from the smallest piece of parchment to the massive crumbling statues of the human gods.

Of course, being one of their most valuable assets, he’s susceptible to, uh… being kidnapped. After the first attempt by the Inquest to learn his secrets, he now has at least one other Priory member with him at all times. After awhile, he begins requesting individuals to accompany him places. Like the duo of the cheery sylvari and gentle norn. Or the cute archon that showed him how an idol of Balthazar has laser eyes that incinerate objects when you press the right button.

He likes her a lot. Her name’s Kirra, but everyone calls her Mouse for her abnormally circular ears.

But he has a reputation to uphold, and he can’t afford being sweet with any of the ones he likes.

… Okay, maybe just a little bit for her.

—

Five years later he’s been promoted to explorer, has a wonderful, precious girlfriend that he adores and adores him back, and he’s in the middle of a jungle running from a very angry, very large plant monster. He doesn’t know how he’s still outrunning the creature on his tiny legs, but he clutches the artifact closer to his chest and keeps running. It took him too long to find this tablet and by the Eternal Alchemy, he is not letting it go now!

Oh, did he mention he’s screaming the entire time too?

The loud, nasally shrieking must have notified the other scholars, because not moments later a group comes rushing out of the bramble. He expects pale Priory blue on every individual, but instead gets an array of colors and the all too familiar garb of none other than the Pact Commander.

She strides between him and beast, extending her hand and slowly forming a fist. The Mordrem husk crumbles to its knees, clawing at the invisible force that crushes the heart in its chest. Once it falls forward, still twitching but unable to move, she makes a swift motion like she’s ripping it out of its chest, and the beast is dead.

“Holy fuck…” is about all he can manage to say.

The commander turns to him and he squeaks when he recognizes her face. One claw shakily points to her, “Y-… You’re, you’re that… You’re the norn! The one with the cheery plant! Lili-something! You’re the _Pact Commander_ , now?”

She scowls so harshly his ears drop in fear. “It’s _Libitira_. And I seem to recall you being more… courageous, Zaheer.”

He’s so caught up in the shock of the moment he completely forgets about the persona. He sputters, coughing to regain his composure before letting the personality drape over him like a cloak. 

“A moment of weakness, that is all.” He waves it off like he wasn’t just screaming bloody murder. “I had the situation under control. Though I do appreciate the little help you offered.”

One of her companions, a human woman in dark colors, scoffs as the other norn’s face grows confused. Commander Libitira just rolls her eyes. “Drop it already, Zaheer, we all know you’re not that cocky. Everyone in the Priory knows you babytalk your little bee golem when you think you’re alone.”

His jaw drops and his eyes follow her as she casually walks past him as if she hadn’t just outed one of his biggest secrets in front of her entire party. Had he… really been this transparent the whole time? He thought he pulled the personality off perfectly! Her companions begin to follow her back in the direction from which they’d come. Ears flicking upwards, he runs after the group.

“Hold on, hold on- Who told you?!”

“Who do you think?” Libitira calls back, before cackling madly. 

“Mouse!”


	5. a vision of frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Born early with a piece of Mordremoth's magic in her, the young sylvari Indumathia is able to receive a vision from a certain dragon under the ice...

The first thing she notices about the vision is that it’s cold.

Despite the layers of heavy cloth and long skirt she despises so much, the bite of the wind still reaches her bones, chilling her core. Indumathia wraps her arms around herself and uses her wings as a shield, and she curls in tightly while she waits for whoever sent her here (actually, she knows exactly who would send her to this frozen wasteland) to show up.

“Ahhh… how long it has been since I felt the soft pulse of your magic. The hum of a power both ancient and new.” 

A deep, honeyed voice cuts through the howl of the wind whipping around her. Indumathia grits her teeth, immediately recognizing the being that voice belongs to. She braces herself for the massive dragon that awaits her when she turns around, but the annoyance flies into pure rage when she sees a very different figure standing before her.

“So good to see you again…”

The voice sounds wrong coming from her lips. Too throaty, too dark. The look in her eyes is all wrong too. Where there has always been a gentle warmth now contains a coldness so piercing she can feel their gaze in her bones. 

Libitira smiles.

“…Champion.”

Indumathia bristles, the rage burning hot in her chest despite the atmosphere. “Drop the glamour, Jormag.”

They tilt their head curiously and brush a long lock of ebony behind their ear after the wind blows it in their face. “Do you not like this form?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Odd. I rather like it myself.” They twist and turn to examine themself, testing out their limbs in various ways and feeling around their face. It’s so clearly not Libitira it’s unnerving to watch. Like a child inspecting a new outfit. “Beautiful, yet surprisingly frail. Truly a miracle she didn’t lose a limb until the battle with my third brother. Then again, Mordremoth was a pompous fool and Zhaitan was always a bit of a runt, just like her.”

“You missed a few spots.” The dark circles under her eyes, the lightning scars running up her arms, the _three damned artificial limbs_ –

Jormag seems to ignore her snarky comment. They flick their hand and a wicked smile forms on their face when necrotic magic flares to life in their palm. “What she lacks in physical strength she makes up for with pure arcane power. I could feel the strength of her magic in the blood that stained my corrupted ice from miles away.”

“You should thank Kralkatorrik that she’s not the one coming after you now.” Indumathia snaps.

Jormag’s eyes flash dangerously. For a moment Indumathia worries they are going to lash out, but the barely restrained rage melts into a small smile. “Walk with me, champion.”

The tundra extends infinitely ahead of them. A vision cannot end until Jormag, the stronger of the beings, severs the connection. There’s nothing else for Indumathia to do but listen to their will. With a great deal of reluctance, Indumathia walks beside Jormag, whose steps are leisurely across the thick ice. The wind has died down since the vision started, now more of a weak breeze than anything. Mist parts and reveals towering pines far in the distance; Indumathia recognizes it as the forest where she and Libitira first met.

“You do not wish to fight me, little one,” Jormag says casually.

“And why not?” Indumathia shoots back.

“Why fight your kin? We are not as different as you believe.”

It’s incredible Jormag doesn’t melt with the heat of her glare. “I am no dragon.”

“But are you sylvari either?” They ask. The question is enough to make Indumathia halt in her tracks. “Look at you, champion. You have more power than any other sylvari. You are more connected to the lifeblood of Tyria than any other race. An anomaly of a living being. Not entirely dragon… but not entirely sylvari either.

“You lost your connection to the Dream. The magic that connects all of your kind together. Now you have a connection with us, the Elder Dragons. Does that not make you more kin with me than with Caithe? With Trahearne?”

“I am-… I am not–” Indu tries to rebuff their claim, but words utterly fail her in the moment. Flashes of memories, little moments of weakness in others. Marjory flinching the first time Indu smiled at her. Pact soldiers whispering behind their hands, gawking at her growing horns. The horror in the Pale Mother’s eyes despite her polite smile as she introduced herself. 

Was she… really so different?

She flinches when a hand comes to rest on her head. Libitira’s face looks sympathetic. “You love them very much; this I can see. But be true to yourself, champion. You are not one of them anymore. Join your kin. With my help, you will ascend to the same power as your sister and your grandfather, balancing magic as we must for the cycles to continue. Just look at what you could become.”

Jormag moves behind her, running their fingers down the crystal wings. They guide her to open them wide, light reflecting purple and pink fractals onto the ice. In the hazy reflection, she looks like Aurene: glimmering and resplendent in the rising light. Her breath catches. Jormag hums behind her, placing a hand on her spine between the junctions of the two wings. Power floods Indumathia’s system, so potent the ink of her blood hums with magic. Her eyes dilate until they are the size of saucers.

“Now fly, Indumathia. The Sylvan Dragon.”

There’s a tense moment of silence as they wait for her to follow orders. The longer it lasts, the faster Jormag’s malicious grin falls into a confused frown. There’s a soft tremble in her shoulders, and then suddenly Indumathia is cackling madly. Doubled over with the strength of it. Jormag takes their hand off her back like she had burned them, snarling with an echoed voice, “What is the meaning of this?”

“You- You think you’re really clever, don’t you?!” She said between laughs. “Trying to– corrupt me when I’m vulnerable!”

Jormag is so furious their face shifts between monstrous icebrood and Libitira’s, unable to hold onto the glamour. 

Indu’s laughs died down and she brushed a tear out of her eye. “Ohhhh, brambles, I haven’t laughed that hard since Balthazar’s last words. The irony was too good.

“That was really cute, what you just pulled. Tempting me with that “two halves but never a whole” spiel. Jokes on you, Maggie, I am both sylvari _and_ dragon. And you should know all too well–” 

The ice cracks underneath their feet as a violet light emerges from underneath. Purple crystals form from the snowflakes that fall, now suspended in the air that hums with newly energized power. Indumathia rises off the ground with a strong beat of her wings, looking down at Jormag with triumph. In that moment, she is the Dragon Flower. Dazzling and magnificent, wings outstretched like the petals of a crystalline iris.

“Dragon cannot corrupt fellow dragon.”


	6. suit and tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a "zip me" prompt from a tumblr post. Libitira and Trahearne get ready for a celebration together, and he has a bit of trouble.

“So you loop it this way and then fold behind this… and it’s done?”

Libitira turned to look at Trahearne and immediately cackled at what she saw. The great Marshal of the Pact. Defeated by a loopy piece of fabric. 

Trahearne’s glow flashed in embarrassment and he immediately undid the tie again. “You’d think humans would find an easier way to put these on.”

“Human fashion, especially for the nobility, has never been about convenience or comfort.” She turned back to the mirror to finish applying the soft pink lip tint. “Otherwise corsets would have gone out of fashion ages ago, and I would be able to breathe right now.”

“You what-”

“Kidding, I’m kidding!” She laughed, but the sound taped off at the end, making him wonder if she actually was.

He fumbled with it for a few more minutes before Libitira walked over to help. Sighing in defeat, he held out the two ends of the golden fabric. Somehow she looped the tie together expertly and tightened it so that it was snug but not choking on his neck. Before she let go, she tugged him to her and placed a quick kiss on his forehead.

“There, handsome as ever.” 

“And you look just as stunning as ever,” he replied, hands finding her waist as she brushes her thumb over his cheek, “How many people are we expecting?”

With a small snort she pulled away from him, picking up the suit jacket draped over a chair. “For the celebratory banquet? We might as well have invited all of Tyria.” She helped him into the jacket, straightening out the collar and brushing out any creases in the expensive silk. Her hands stalled on his chest, a shadow falling over her face. “Will you be up for the crowds? I don’t want you to have a panic attack–”

“I’ll be fine, dearheart. As long as you’re near.”

She gave him a small smile as he reached up to brush a few fly-away hairs back behind her ear. Before he pulled away fully, she took his wrist and placed a soft kiss to his palm. The silver of her rings and bangles was cool against his skin but her lips were warm. The opposing temperatures sent a shiver running up his spine. 

“Shall we go? Tyria has been waiting long enough.”

Libitira looped her arm with Trahearne’s.

“We shall.”


	7. death and rebirth of the claw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Libitira did not expect the battle against the Claw of Jormag to end this way. Written for the Tyria's Library halloween event.
> 
> WARNING: serious body horror

The world stood still for a moment.

Suspended in a singular, horrific hour, minute, second, as the mist cleared.

The Claw was dead, its massive body motionless in the snow. Eyes still open but void of the ice cold rage that fueled his attacks just moments ago. The Pact soldiers should have been cheering, celebrating the incredible victory they achieved against the enemy that had been terrorizing them since Jormag first stirred. Instead they could only stare in shock at the lone figure in front of his body, the last victim before his death.

The commander was impaled on massive ice spikes, through her hands, her throat, her ankles, her abdomen. Bone and torn muscle tissue was on full display for those close enough to see it. She looked like a broken marionette, limbs twisted in odds angles and hair gently blowing in the silent breeze. Crimson dripped from her lips and wounds, freezing the instant it touched the corrupted ice. 

For a moment, it was uncomfortably silent. 

Then a soldier let out a cry of horror when she realized the commander was still alive.

Her hands twitched uncontrollably, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. A wheeze. A sound like a dying bird. Blood splattered across her chin as she coughed around the spike in her abdomen. 

A few men ran forward to pull her down while the rest could only watch as she slowly died in front of them. Before they could even climb the first pillar, she let out a blood-curdling scream that caused one asura to throw up on the spot. 

Something was happening to her.

The corrupted ice burrowed into her wounds, forcing itself through the gore and into her bloodstream. They could see it travel under her skin as it turned her veins deep blue. Frost bloomed on her skin wherever it touched next. It drank her life force like sweet nectar. Her scream turned into a guttural choke as it worked its way through her heart and up her throat, settling in her head where the corruption finally took hold of her mind.

The pillars shattered around her with such a force they impaled the men that had tried to climb them. Her body fell… down, down, until she landed with a soft thud in the snow. The soldiers were in shock, completely paralyzed from the horror they just witnessed. For a moment, the clearing was quiet again.

Then the commander extended one hand in the air, icicles materializing from her open wounds.

With a flick of her wrist, the entire platoon was dead. Miniscule spikes right through the throat, severing the spinal cord. They dropped at the same time she stood up.

Her body had morphed into an icebrood unlike any before her. Half her face was completely covered in corrupted ice, jutting out from her frostbitten skin down her cheek and taping off at the shoulder. Spikes crawled up her forearms, her calves. But the wound in her abdomen was left untouched, a grotesque emptiness in the center of her being. 

Somewhere under the ice, Jormag chuckled.


	8. confessions in fort trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle against Zhaitan, Trahearne realizes he needs to say something to Libitira. Written for the Tyria's Library Valentine Event.

“Hiding from the crowds, Trahearne?” A familiar voice teased behind him. Trahearne turned, and when he noticed it was her, he smiled. Commander Libitira, still in full regalia and wearing a mischievous smile on her face, walked up the ramp and toward him. “That certainly won’t do. The Pact Marshal should be seen celebrating such a tremendous victory!”

“Not hiding, my friend, thinking.” He replied. When she stopped next to him he looked back up at the sky. The once dark and muddy clouds poisoned by Zhaitan’s corruption had turned pure white, slowly drifting on the winds away from Orr. For a moment there was just peaceful silence between them as they watched the clouds and listened to the celebration below. Trahearne took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Completing my Wyld Hunt lifted a weight from me, but Zhaitan was still a terrible threat. Now that that threat is truly gone, it feels like the sun has finally emerged after a cold, endless night.”

His lips turned down into a grimace as he continued, “Yet I can’t help but wonder…what’s next? Now that we’ve formed this unstoppable alliance and tempered it in battle, where do we take it?”

Libitira blinked, then smiled reassuringly as she stepped in front of Trahearne and took his hands in her own. Her voice was tender as she spoke, “To the next challenge. The next victory. There are more Elder Dragons to confront… and now we know how. We know they can be defeated.” The marshal smiled weakly and nodded, reassured by her words.

“But first!” She said more cheerfully, spreading their arms out and leaning in to give him a quick peck on the forehead. His glow brightened as she pulled away to look him in the eye again. “We celebrate. We won, Marshal. It would be a crime not to stop and appreciate that.”

Trahearne chuckled, and Libitira began leading him off the airship and down the ramp again. “Come on. There’s an army of people and an ocean of libations waiting. All of Tyria deserves to share this triumph, including you. Join us!”

The worries plaguing him dispelled, his somber attitude melting away to joy as he followed the incredible woman down to the expectant crowd of friends and allies below. 

Maybe it was the euphoria of the celebration… or just seeing her face aglow with happiness, but something spurred him on as they walked down the ramp hand in hand. He reached up and grabbed the Commander’s face, pulling her down and pressing his lips to hers. He heard her squeak in surprise, but it turned to a content sigh as she closed her eyes and kissed him back, arms wrapping around his waist. 

Only faintly, he could hear the crowd gasp and then cheer when they noticed them on the ramp. A few “Finally!”s and “It’s happening, people!!”s stood out among the shouts but he paid them no heed. After a moment, he pulled away to press his forehead to hers, heart singing.

“I’ve been waiting… so long to do that.” He said with a laugh.

She giggled with him. “You’d be amazed how long I was restraining myself as well.”

“So what you were going to say in the cave…”

“A confession, yes. Poorly timed, but a confession nonetheless.” She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “I love you, Trahearne.”

He knew the words were coming but they still took his breath away. He wanted to kiss her. So he did. And he kissed her again, and again, and again…

Finally he pulled away, “I love you, Libitira.”


	9. outside the chantry of whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karmanor, Tybalt, and Demmi enjoy a night on the beach.

_A relaxing night._

They sit together on the soft sands, staring up at the freckled night’s sky with a small fire keeping them warm against the strong ocean breeze. A bottle is passed between them, two drunk charr laughing and making jokes while they have this short time off. Maybe an apple is thrown at one when he says a particularly rude joke. 

A human yells from the cave behind, and they wave her over. She sits between them, cross legged. They pass her the bottle and after one sip she spits it out and starts coughing loudly. The white, spotted charr pats her on the back as she hacks up a lung. The burnt orange one just laughs and laughs until he nearly falls over. 

_A trio of friends._

They chat and joke and laugh until the moon is at the top of the sky. By that time, they’re all too drunk and tired to really speak coherently. Their backs are on the sand as they stare at the stars. The human points out various constellations for the charr, who have never seen them under the light pollution of the Black Citadel. The orange one comes up with stupider names for them that causes them all to giggle.

Eventually, they fall asleep on the beach. All sprawled out and snoring. The bottle is empty and thrown somewhere off to the side. The fire is slowly dying with no one awake to rekindle it. Demmi rolls over and curls up into a tight ball. Tybalt sleeps with his hands clasped behind his head. Karmanor lays on his stomach with all limbs extended, like he’s trying to make a sand angel.

_A moment of peace before the war._


End file.
